


CPD for Spuds

by kooili



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Freestyle Mash, Humor, Mashed Potato Ficathon, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 11:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14567949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kooili/pseuds/kooili
Summary: Holby City’s very own crop of male Solanum Tuberosum come together for their annual gathering.





	CPD for Spuds

**Author's Note:**

> A shout out to GratiaPlena, ProfessorFlimFlam, Requin, shirazkindofgirl, squishmitten and Wonko for inspiration from their brilliant mashes.

SPUD. 

Xavier Duval glanced at the information on the crisp sheet in his hand one more time. It was heavyweight, quality paper, watermarked. A little unusual considering any correspondence from the NHS was usually on recycled newsprint for the obvious cost-saving reasons. He remembered thinking that it must be an invite to an exclusive event, only reserved for the selected few, probably the cream of the crop.

A surge of self-satisfaction filled his chest when he thought of the look of confusion on Dominic’s and Frieda’s faces when he’d mentioned it, not so casually, when he ran into the pair at Albie’s the other night. 

“Never heard of SPUD before,” Dominic had remarked, frowning.

Duval swore he had seen a flicker of a smile on Frieda’s face before it disappeared into the ether, replaced by her signature impassive expression. She had shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps there’s a reason not all of us are invited.” 

Dom then turned and looked at her inquisitively but Duval was oblivious to the enigmatic tone of Frieda’s response. 

“Oh, I expect it’s an exclusive event. The organisers probably screened the guest list twice to make sure only the  _ right _ people were attending,” he remembered declaring smugly before picking his drink up from the counter of the bar. 

He checked the address on the letter one last time before entering the large frosted glass doors. The decor was fairly nondescript - it looked like a fairly standard office suite. He had been surprised when he googled the address initially, expecting a conference aimed at the best doctors in the NHS to held somewhere more glamorous. Still, it was a possible opportunity to mingle with the powers that be and who knows who he might impress. His lips had curled upwards at the thought of schmoozing his way to being the youngest registrar to make consultant in Holby. 

There was a reception desk just ahead but it was completely empty. He knitted his eyebrows in confusion as he looked for, and failed to find, a bell or some other way to summon some form of assistance. 

“Hello?” he called out, only for his own voice to echo back. Perhaps he was at the wrong address. He looked round again and finally spied a small sign plastered onto the wall. A closer look revealed the letters SPUD in bold type with an arrow pointing toward a hallway leading off to his left. He was in the right place after all. He smiled, straightening the lines of his designer jacket. The sound of mumbled voices grew louder as he approached the only open door along the corridor. 

“Can we just get started?” a voice groaned exasperatedly. 

“No. Everyone needs to be here. You know that.” 

The reply was crisp and Duval paused, slightly surprised. He recognised the voice instantly - it was Professor Gaskell. His chest puffed out instantly at the thought that he was on the same invitation list as the eminent world-renowned neurosurgeon. It took one final step before he finally arrived at the doorway. Four sets of eyes fixed in his direction immediately, reacting with varying degrees of politeness and indifference. 

His eyes swept across the room. The list must have been a lot more exclusive than he initially thought because there were only five of them present. He was about to introduce himself when the sound of hurried footsteps and heaving breathing made him pause. Duval thought he recognised the dark haired figure. He was in the midst of wracking his brain, searching for that elusive name and almost missed the hand that was stuck in his direction. 

“Ollie Valentine.”

“Xavier Duval,” he replied with a limp grasp. 

_ That’s why the face is familiar. _

It was weeks ago but he had seen Ollie dragging himself along with the help of a zimmer when he wandered up to the neuro-ward hoping to accidentally run into the a certain agency nurse he had heard about.  His drinking mates had extolled the virtues of her substantial assets and he was determined to win the running bet on who would be the first to score.

Ollie replied with a distracted smile before searching out the nearest chair and plonking himself into it immediately. “Sorry I was late. Some dickhead had parked in the disabled spot.”

There was a murmur of all round acknowledgement before the rest of the men settled into random seats round the room.

Duval scanned the room. He recognised Gaskell but, other than Valentine, the other occupants were all strangers to him. He was about to ask the obvious question when the door behind him started closing, clicking shut with a solid thunk.

“What is going on?” he asked, confused. 

His companions in the room didn’t seem to have heard his question from their lack of response. Duval was about to repeat himself when the stocky man standing by the window finally answered. 

“We’ll get started in a moment. Once the system,” the man continued, flicking his gaze up to a small CCTV camera tucked in a corner on the ceiling, “registers that everyone’s here. “

A series of beeps sounded along with random clicks signalling locks sliding into place.

Duval looked up, clearly confused: more so since everyone else in the room was either smiling or sighing at him. “What is this?” he repeated.

Gaskell’s thin lips stretched into a grim smile as he answered. “Welcome to SPUD, Xavier. You might want to take a sit while Mr Dunn explains the rules.”

“Right,” Marcus started as he scanned the room. “Most of us know the drill but I’ll explain what we’ll be doing for the benefit of our latest member.”

Duval looked at him expectantly. This was quickly resembling the strangest conference he’d ever been to. Perhaps it was some newfangled learning method. 

“The six of us are now locked in this room until we find the code to unlock the door. As always, there will be a series of clues hidden round the room, starting with the one sealed in here.” He signalled by picking up a plain white envelope from a table. “This-”

“We’re locked in?” Duval interrupted, noting the small keypad by the entrance now that it had been pointed out. It looked basic, a small square box with an LED screen above a numeric pad. “All we need is a three digit code so why don’t we just try all the different combinations? That’s got to be quicker than sitting here for hours.” He punched in three zeros in succession and received a loud beep for his effort. 

“If you would let me finish Mr Duval,” Marcus started speaking but he was already reaching for the handle of the door to push it downwards. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” 

The warning came a fraction of a second too late because the next thing Duval remembered was blinking bleary-eyed while flat on his back. His right hand felt like it was on fire and there was a distinct odour of singed skin emanating off the flat of his palm.

“He told you not to.” The voice, this time, belonged to a pot-bellied figure with a salt and pepper beard leaning against a table at the opposite corner of the room. 

Gaskell sighed and leaned over, hauled Duval back up onto his feet. “Now that you’ve tried it your way, will you let Mr Dunn continue?”

Duval nodded mutely, the throbbing in his hand nearly surpassed by a similar sensation in his cheeks as his face flushed in embarrassment.

Marcus gave him a pained look and decided that a precis version of his original introduction would be more appropriate after all.  “We are confined in this room until we find the code to unlock the door. There are no shortcuts.” 

“But-” He stuttered after the single word left his lips. This had started out as his dream opportunity to rub shoulders with the medical elite but the surreal turn with locks and electrified doors left him more confused than ever. 

The only member of their group who was quiet till now spoke up. “Why don’t we do a round of introductions. Edward Campbell.”

“Robbie Medcalf. Or amongst this lot, Robbie the Bobbie.”

Duval managed a semblance of a smile before turning towards the only other person in the room he wasn’t acquainted with. A Mr Dunn, if he recalled Gaskell’s words from earlier. 

“And I’m Marcus Dunn,” he announced.

It felt, from the way the entire room was now looking at him that he should know who they were. Duval wracked his brain, trying to place where he might have heard of them from. A CPD event or maybe a name on a article in the BMJ, but no, nothing came to mind. They appeared to have been expecting him but he was still none the wiser as to what this is all about. Perhaps he should ask the question that had lingered in his mind since he received this invitation.

“I’ve been trying to work out the acronym but nothing rings a bell. What  _ is _ SPUD?” Duval finally asked, looking for an answer around the room.

He was greeted by various noises, snorts of disbelief and cynical chuckles.

“It isn’t short for anything. It’s spud, as in potato,” Gaskell finally explained with a pained expression on his face.

“Potato? Is this some new research you’re doing on the effect of starch on the regeneration of nerve-“

Marcus cut him off impatiently. “No, Mr. Duval, it’s just what it says. Congratulations. You’re now the newest member of the Holby League of Potato-Faced Men.”

Duval stared in open-face confusion, waiting for the metaphorical punch-line, somehow expecting that there wasn’t one. He groaned, as the rest of the room stared stoically back at him, the reality of the scenario he had somehow ended up in began to sink in. He shook his head in resignation before asking the obvious question. “So when do we start?”

A loud buzz answered his question and Marcus tore into the envelope, pulling out a sheet of printed paper. The group quickly crowded round him to peek at what was written on it.

“Find your first clue in a book on a topic that defines all six of you collectively as a group,” Gaskell read aloud over Marcus’s shoulder. 

The men pulled back almost simultaneously and started scanning the room. The far wall had shelves built into it from floor to ceiling and was crammed full of books and that was the obvious place to start. Their eyes took in the additional random volumes, scattered on tables and smaller bookcases around the room.  

Duval’s face lit up immediately. “That’s easy. It must be something related to medicine. We’re all doctors after all.”

Robbie cleared his throat and spoke up. “Not all of us. Retired police detective here.”

Edward nodded with a sigh. “He’s right. It can’t be that easy anyway. I think it has to be something to do with our personalities not just what we do for a living.”

Gaskell rolled his eyes and sighed. “I can’t imagine what I could possibly have in common in terms of personal traits with anyone else present.”

“Neither can I,” Marcus replied with a snort, levelling Duval with a hard stare. The young man caught his look and bristled. “What exactly are you insinuating? I’ll have you know that I am-”

A sharp shriek blared interrupting his next words and an authorative female voice crackled through unseen speakers. 

“I suggest starting with the books on the shelves. Before we are all overcome by old age.” 

There was a hint of mirth by the end of the sentence but Duval couldn’t be sure as the speaker cut out immediately after. He blinked and couldn’t help thinking that that voice had sounded vaguely familiar. “Who was that?”

His question went unanswered as the group dispersed, his companions heading towards the obvious wall of books. He was about to repeat himself before deciding that he should probably start looking too. It was just as well, as a book sitting atop one of the small shelves lining the room caught his eye.

*****

“So, gents, what do we have?” Marcus asked, dropping his pile of books onto the table beside him.  A quick survey of the group standing before him indicated that they had come up with at least a few possibilities each.

“I went for the obvious. An autobiography of Casanova and this classic,” Edward held up a slim hardback, “Don Quixote de La Mancha.”

“Right.” Marcus raised an eyebrow but continued with the rest of the group.

Robbie had picked a copy of the Hounds of the Baskervilles. Gaskell’s choices were twin volumes on history’s greatest neurosurgeons. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if this might be it,” Duval announced as he  produced his selection - a hardback volume titled The Manual: What Women Want and How To Give It To Them. “I could have written this myself,” he added smugly, missing the nearly synchronised rolling of eyes.

“What about you, Valentine?” Marcus turned towards Ollie, who was still staring at the shelf, eyes darting rapidly across the vast selection. There was no answer and it was obvious the question hadn’t either registered or the former surgeon was too caught up in his scrutiny to give an answer. He shrugged and turned back towards the rest of the group.

“Well, it looks like we have a good selection but they can’t all be the right book.” 

Edward piped up. “Maybe it’s a trick and the clue is in a book describing just one of us. It isn’t possible for one book to describe,” he swept an arm across the room, “all of us.”

Robbie grunted his agreement. “I have to agree with Casanova over here. Let’s start with what we’ve got just now and hope we get lucky.” He plopped into the nearest chair and started thumbing through the book he had picked, his companions quickly following suit.

*****

“This is a waste of time and pointlessly impossible,” Duval complained loudly for what must have been the dozenth time, tossing aside the book he was holding. 

They had examined their initial selection and unsurprisingly, the clue was nowhere to be found. Robbie had suggested a second pick through the books but that too yielded nothing. 

“All right, Mr Duval, in your opinion, what do you suggest we do next?” Gaskell pulled himself upright with an inquiring look.

Duval stared and attempted a reply before clamping his mouth shut when he realised that he did not have anything good in mind. He looked round the room for help but it was obvious the rest of the group was equally stumped. His eyes landed back where they started, on the professor, who was still clearly waiting for an answer. 

“I suppose we could just go through the rest of the books until we find something,” he suggested weakly, expecting to be dismissed immediately.  To his surprise, his newfound companions seemed to agree and Edward, who was nearest to the shelf, began pulling books off a shelf and cradling them into a pile in the crook of his other arm.

They were barely ten minutes into tossing through the assorted selection on the shelf when Ollie shrieked excitedly. “I found it!” He held aloft a square of folded paper which had spilled out from the book he was holding in his other hand.

“What’s the clue?” Marcus all but grabbed the paper out of his hand, unfolding it impatiently. 

Duval craned his neck forward to catch a glimpse. It was a crude way of finding what the were looking for but it worked.  “Which book was it is in?” he asked curiously.

Ollie stared for  moment at the book he was still holding and handed it over with a shrug. It was a paperback, well read, judging from the turned corners of the covers. He frowned as his eyes skimmed across the title of the book. Now wonder they hadn’t been able to find the first piece to the puzzle before. It must have been inserted into this particular book by mistake because he couldn’t fathom how  _ Nice Guys Finish Last? Why Women Don’t Owe You Anything _ would be the obvious choice given their initial clue. 

“Right, let’s see what we have here.” Marcus’s voice interrupted his deliberations. His eyes narrowed as he started reading the next clue.

“ A man and his son were in a terrible accident and are rushed to the hospital in critical care. The surgeon looks at the boy and exclaims, “I can’t operate on this boy. He’s my son!” How can this be?” He paused before reading the final part of the puzzle. “The next clue is waiting just beneath the surface of where your answer lies and there, you will  find the following piece of your quest.’

There was silence as they individually processed the information. The moment stretched as it was soon obvious that no one had an immediate answer to offer. 

“This must be a trick question,” Edward finally muttered.

Marcus nodded in agreement. “The father couldn’t possibly be operating on the son when he’s in critical care.”

Gaskell signalled for the scrap of paper, plucking it from Marcus’ grasp as soon as it was offered. “Perhaps they were able to stabilise the father with the help of a genius surgeon specialising in advanced neurological-”

“Oh, enough with the self-promotion, Professor,” Robbie cut in, rolling his eyes. There has to be a much simpler answer to this. Let’s look at this logically.”

Duval, who until now had been quiet, chimed in. “This isn’t logical. The father is injured and there is no way he can be treating his son in that state.” 

“That’s what I just said.” Marcus rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. 

From an opposite corner of the room, Gaskell’s voice rose above their arguments in an affected tone. “I’ll have you know, Mr Medcalf, that I’m an eminent -”

A loud exclamation made him and everyone else who was speaking stop. 

Oliver Valentine had the pained and concentrated look of someone with something to say. “Wait! I’m seeing something…” He trailed off, eyes darting wildly as if he was looking for a point of focus in some distant unseen horizon. 

“Well, what is it Valentine?” Edward asked impatiently. 

Ollie’s eyes danced for a moment longer before he shook his head in dismay. 

Duval sighed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “This is impossible. And I still don’t understand why I’m here.”

Gaskell snorted in disbelief and returned to staring at the clue.

“You are here because a recurrent theme in your general demeanour and behaviour has warranted further intervention.” 

“What?”

Robbie rolled his eyes in exasperation and stopped him before he could continue. “You’ve been behaving like a sexist, arrogant idiot and it was decided that you needed a kick up the arse.”

Duval’s eyes narrowed defensively.  “Excuse me?!” 

“Look, there’s no need to get your knickers in a twist,” Robbie added, hands held palms up, “we’re all in the same boat here. I’m the ableist ex-boyfriend who never called back and needed help curbing my tendencies to indiscreetly brandish women’s underwear in public.” 

His eyes widened slightly, clearly confused. “I don’t understand.”

Edward, Marcus and Gaskell exchanged knowing looks before turning to face the young man.

“I was sent here for being a philandering sleaze,” Edward said, almost nonchalantly. 

Marcus grimaced before declaring, “Bitter, underhanded ex-husband.”

Duval’s head turned towards Gaskell with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension considering the recent revelations about his fellow SPUDS. 

“I am apparently a slimy conniving lizard-type individual who wouldn’t blink at throwing anyone under a bus,” he finally announced primly. 

There was a long pause before he drew himself upright. “So we’re all here, locked in until we get some big reveal because we have offended these so called powers that be?”

Marcus was about to answer when a flash of movement caught the corner of his eye. Ollie now had his index fingers pressed hard against his temples, his eyes squeezed shut. He mumbled something incoherently before retreating into a corner of the room.

Duval refused to be distracted and asked the next obvious question. “I don’t get it. I had no idea what this was but the rest of you seem to have some experience.” He looked round the room and received unanimous nods of acknowledgment. “Why are you even here knowing what’s in store?”

Robbie’s expression darkened. “Believe me, you’re wise to come the first time you got the invite. Saved all the grief. Unfortunate things happen if you don’t. And I don’t just mean getting told to grow up or that you smell bad or getting told a few home truths.”

Edward nodded in agreement. “Yeah, the chat in the cafe was a walk in the park compared to what happened the next time I ignored it.” He grimaced. “I got my, uhm, tadger burnt in a pie the second time.”

“I threw away the first letter and all my girlfriends since have discovered their sapphic side.” Marcus sighed.

“And,” Robbie muttered, “even your dreams aren’t safe. I’ve had a series of horrible accidents happen to me on an allotment. Every night for a week!” 

Gaskell cut in impatiently. “The point is, Mr Duval, unless you are keen to spend the rest of the year looking over your shoulder, you have done the right thing by coming here.” His tone dropped with a hint of warning, “After all, you wouldn’t want have an  _ accident _ ...” he drew quote marks in the air, “...at the next Holby City team building event, would you?”

Duval took a few long seconds to digest the information. It all sounded far fetched and a little fantastical. Besides, he couldn’t possibly imagine what Oliver Valentine could have done to deserve inclusion. He nodded toward the man, “What’s he here for?”

Gaskell replied with a snort. “Him? He’s just here for being incredibly boring.” 

“Shall we get back to this, gentlemen?” Marcus cleared his throat, pointing at the clue.

Duval sighed and was about to complain about how it was impossible to solve when he froze as a thought crossed his head. “Hang on a minute, what if...” A look of excitement start to spread across his face. “...what if the parents are gay and the boy has two fathers and the other one’s a surgeon-”

A loud flat buzz sounded immediately cutting him off.

“Nope,” Edward remarked drily. 

The sound of soft mumbling made them all turn as a group. Ollie had stopped clutching his head and was now speaking softly to himself. “Wait a minute. I remember something from my past life. Women. Women can be surgeons.” His voice grew louder as he repeated himself. “Women can be surgeons too.” His companions looked at him curiously as he stared back at them with a look sudden revelation, exclaiming loudly. “The surgeon could be a woman so the person who treated the boy was his mother.”

A loud ding sounded immediately and although it didn’t mean anything to Duval, the rest of the group exchanged relieved smiles. 

“Well done, Valentine,” Edward nodded begrudgingly. “That was well out of the box.”

Marcus chuckled loudly in agreement. “Yes, well, who would have thought of a woman as a surgeon?”

The words had barely left his lips when static crackled before a voice boomed through unseen speakers. 

“Half of you have been married to surgeons so it shouldn’t be a surprise. Let’s get cracking with your next clue. We haven’t got all day.”

The room was silent once more and the euphoria of solving the puzzle soon disappeared. Duval glanced at the scrap of paper that held the riddle and sighed. It had taken them a good part of an hour to get the first answer in this increasingly surreal experience. 

“How many more puzzles are there to solve before we can get out of here?”

Gaskell tilted his head thoughtfully. “I’ve only done two other sessions before this but as I recall, the last one had at least a dozen.”

The math whirled in his head and Duval quickly exclaimed. “I don’t have time for all of that. My shift starts in two hours and I really don’t need Serena Campbell on my case if I’m late.”

Robbie gave him a half-smile as he started looking round the room for any possible answers.  “I wouldn’t worry if I were you. Who do you think sent you the invite?

***** 

“Pass me the cheese will you?” Serena smiled, draining the last sip of wine from her glass.

Bernie handed over platter without taking her eyes off the screen. “I don’t understand how they manage to do worse every single time. We’ve even increased their numbers by adding Xavier Duval.”

Serena smiled and shrugged a shoulder. “I suppose this is a classic example when more might be less, darling.”

A sudden movement on the CCTV screen caught their attention and the women stared in amusement as the men on the screen seemed to be arguing incessantly instead of noticing the large life-size poster of Madonna on the far wall.

“How much longer are we going to leave them to this? They’ve not even found the second clue and there’s,” Bernie paused to count the list off in her head, “ten more after that.”

The glint in Serena’s eye bloomed into a evil grin when she finally answered. “I say they deserve to see it through to the end, after all the trouble we’ve gone through to set this up.”

Bernie let out a bark of laughter and made a mental note never to cross her wife. “In that case, there’s a lovely Italian restaurant just round the corner. At the rate they’re going, I very much doubt we’ll miss much by taking a lunch break. And, I’m pretty sure they have an extensive wine list.”

Serena didn’t need to be asked twice.


End file.
